


Ideas worth Celebrating

by Sermocinare



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:09:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sermocinare/pseuds/Sermocinare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A patriotic Bill reminds Byron why the 4th of July is a date worth celebrating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ideas worth Celebrating

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watchmen kinkmeme

"Happy 4th of July, Byron! Come on, let's go down to Central Park and watch the fireworks!" Bill's cheery grin froze as soon as he set eyes on Byron, the hand which had been waving two bottles of beer stopping in mid-wave. "Oh dear. You don't look happy at all. Something happen?"

Byron snorted, not even getting up from the sofa but instead taking another swig from his bottle: "No. I just don't think there's anything to celebrate, that's all."

Bill sat down next to Byron, putting down his bag and parking the bottles on the coffee table. "Nothing to celebrate? It's the 4th of July!" Bill shook his head, incredulous. He was used to his friend sometimes getting moods, but this was bad even for Byron's standards.

Byron took another swig, glaring at the wall as if it had personally offended him in some way: "And what's there to celebrate? America?" Another one of those derisive snorts, and Bill knew he was in for one of Byron's infamous rambles, which he couldn't help but love even if half of them flew completely over his head. "A country in which everything is set up so that the rich get richer while the poor don't know how they'll survive the next week. A country that goes on and on about freedom, justice and the American dream, but still treats people as if they're second-class human beings just because they happen to be born black. Excuse me for not being in a celebratory mood."

Bill sighed, running his hand through his hair. He didn't really know what to say to that. He knew Byron was right, because hell, Byron was pretty much always right when it came to these things, but at the same time...

"But that's not the point, Byron," he finally said, trying to catch his friend's eye.

"Then what is?"

"The point is... it's..." Bill made a sweeping, somewhat helpless gesture, "it's about ideas, Byron. I mean, I know things ain't perfect. There's poverty and crime and everything, but that's not what the 4th is about. It's about, well, celebrating how this nation was founded. Fighting off the British, and becoming an independent nation where you don't have someone who gets to call all the shots just because he was born into the right family. It's about the idea of freedom and equality, and about fighting for that idea." Bill smiled, and laid a hand on Byron's wrist, stopping the bottle in mid-swig: "And I thought that was something you could, you know, get behind."

For a while, Byron just looked at Bill, as if he were seeing him for the first time. Then, he bent forward, pressing his lips to Bill's in a deep kiss, his hand cupping Bill's cheek. When he pulled back, Byron was grinning: "And people say that I'm an idealist and a dreamer. Well, they've just never met you."

Bill laughed, averting his eyes and feeling slightly embarrassed about what Byron had just said. "So," he said, looking at Byron from the corner of his eyes, "does that mean you're going to come have a picnic and watch the fireworks with me?"

Byron chuckled, nuzzling Bill's neck and making him laugh again: "Depends on what's in the bag."

"Well," Bill drawled, and bent down to rummage through the things he had stuffed in there, "there's fried chicken, and some apples, bread, and oh, my mother sent me some homemade cookies." With a triumphant smile, Bill straightened up again, holding out a small star-shaped cookie with red, white and blue frosting.

"Your mother sent you cookies?" Byron couldn't seem to decide if he was more amused or amazed about this, looking at the cookie that was lying in Bill's palm as if it were some novelty item.

"I know, I know," Bill sighed, his grin turning slightly embarrassed again, "she's always worried that her poor boy won't be able to survive on his own in the big city. Come on," he said, pushing his hand in Byron's direction, "try it. They're really good. My mom makes the best cookies in the whole of Kansas."

"You're right, they are amazing," Byron said after he'd washed the rest of the cookie down with some whisky. "All right then. Let's go and watch the fireworks." Getting up, Byron hugged Bill to him, giving the taller man a peck on the jaw: "But if they have some marching band playing nothing but Sousa, I'm coming back to get my bottle."

"Better take it along then," Bill quipped, "you can't have a proper 4th of July without a marching band. But don't worry," he added with a boyish grin, "Once the fireworks start, you won't be able to hear them anyway..."


End file.
